A work in progress—
by heynofair
Summary: —because the Sharingan may let him copy a lot of things, but skills of the heart are not amongst them. [Sasuke. On, accepting himself. And her.]


**A work in progress**

"Maybe next time."

His words are calculated.

Maybe, he's said, and given himself a way out. Given her a probability that, should the odds fall through later on, he can point at and absolve himself of responsibility. The same shit Itachi pulled when they were younger, really, except he won't apologize for it.

He sees the way her face lights up with hope and feels a mirroring force of optimism inside him that he has to clamp down to keep from bursting through the surface and muddying the reality of what he's doing.

His journey cannot involve her no matter what. He's not ready to be with her in any capacity of the words. Perhaps never. But he also doesn't want his last—but only for a while, he adamantly tells himself—memory of her to be a frown.

She's been burdened enough where he's involved. So he'll let her see him off with a smile, even if it's only self-gratification.

There is no guilt when he leaves her with his own smile and gratitude and goes on his way.

* * *

The day before his departure, she demanded a spar. He was bleary-eyed squinting at her, in her ninja gears, standing in the damp cold of early morning in front of his door, the flush of her cheeks of strange particular interest to him for a moment before he simply nodded.

She cited professional purposes ("I want to make sure you're in proper conditions for travel, Sasuke-kun.") even though he had already agreed. Even though her reason was crap and made no sense whatsoever.

He wondered if that was the only reason she thought he would accept, even if not believe; and if her request the only one she thought he was least likely to turn down.

He wondered if she was right.

Thanks to her he never had to find out. He only had to hurry and leave for the training ground with her, knowing Naruto would appear soon after, demanding the same of him. But not for the same reason. (Whatever that might have been.)

* * *

He helps people during his travel, but otherwise generally stays away from them. It's for both his and their good.

More for his.

People ask too many questions, and even the simplest ones dredge up far more than he's willing to deal with.

"Who are you?" they'd ask. "Just a shinobi," he'd answer.

But he's not just a shinobi. Avenger. Missing nin. Akatsuki. Terrorist. War criminal. The list goes on and he cannot in good conscience cross off any one of the items. Those personas, damned as they are, are still a part of him, and if he closes his eyes, he can recall them all in sickeningly vivid details.

"What's your name?" they'd ask. "Uchiha Sasuke," he'd tell them.

And then it's a coin toss on whether recognition and fear flit past their expressions. For the first few times, he's even considered using an alias, but that would have been such a meaningless thing to do in a journey of redemption.

And cowardly.

He's done with running away.

Or so he tells himself.

* * *

It's a calm, sunny day when he stops at a dango stand in a village near the border between Fire and Rain. The decorative flags caught his eyes, he supposes, but he still can't quite pinpoint what has possessed him to purchase a stick of dango for himself.

Itachi loved these (his chest tightens the way it does whenever he's reminded that he can only refer to his brother in past tense), and maybe that's it. But then what?

He isn't one to waste food (though it's debatable whether this is 'food') so he brings it to his mouth and slides the first ball of dango from the skewer.

And he flinches, not from the taste but from the smile that flashes through the front of his mind, innocent and genuine.

His throat runs dry. _Too sweet._ He makes it through the second ball of dango before leaving the rest behind on the table.

* * *

The night before his departure, Naruto finagled him into joining the rest of team 7 for ramen as his farewell party. There wasn't just team 7 at the party.

She was there, of course, with same the dark rings beneath her eyes that he'd noticed rather belatedly during their spar in the morning. Those hadn't kept her from giving him a few bruises and grazes, but he'd be a little less bothered by them if she hadn't also healed him up afterwards.

("But you don't like the hospital, Sasuke-kun.")

She was out like a candle before they even got to the main course.

Being enthusiastic neither for the people nor the ramen, he jumped at the opportunity and volunteered to take her home.

As he left the shop with her, Naruto called after him not to try anything funny and the table erupted into laughter and catcalls. He did not dignify any of that with a response.

She was completely malleable in his arms (Susanoo), her warm breaths seeping into the chest of his shirt, and he didn't dash through the air and over the roofs of civilian houses to get to the shinobi side of the residential district.

Abrupt movements could wake her, and she would fight to stay awake again.

Susanoo used enough chakra already and he needed to be conservative for tomorrow.

Reasoning ironed out, he took a leisure stroll to her apartment, occasionally glancing down to ensure her eyes remained peacefully closed.

* * *

He supposes he did attempt something funny that night. He called upon his Sharingan and committed to memory things that rightfully should be of no consequence to him.

* * *

He enjoys the long stretches of solitude in his travel, even if his voice will croak from disuse once he hits civilization again.

He likes forests best, especially after rain. The musk of earth and tree sap reminds him that clean air exists, and there is no curious gaze on his Rinnegan, no whispering except for the rivers and trees.

A heavy flapping of feathers reaches his ears, and he holds out his arm to receive the messenger falcon.

Letters from his team.

Naruto rambles, illegible at places, about everything and anything that has happened and then some more; and Kakashi includes some personal postscripts after a mission briefing.

He reads hers last, after feeding the bird and sending it away.

He's forgotten if he was the type to save the best or worst for last.

It's the first time she's written to him, and she's surprisingly succinct. Perhaps reserved. A greeting. Comment on the weather. Well-wishing. Her name. And that was all.

But against all logic, he felt her longing for him.

He isn't sure if it's the way the ink seems to tremble at certain strokes, or how the creases where the paper was folded adds a depth to the spaces she's left between the sentences, that seem to be filled with unspoken sentiments. Or if it's just his inflated ego.

He burns every letter he receives, as the information might get into the wrong hands, but can't bring himself to do the same for hers.

Fortunate, then, that she's written nothing that would be of interest to anyone.

(But him.)

* * *

The feeling of her eyes on him was calming, almost spiritual, like a brush of warm smoke at the back of his neck, downy feathers on his skin. He could have pretended sleep forever if she wasn't likely to figure him out the longer he kept up the charade.

* * *

It occurs to him one night, looking out the dirty window of an inn, that he has no idea who he is, if not war criminal, not terrorist or Akatsuki or missing nin; if not an avenger.

He's certainly no hero.

The more people he helps, the less he feels himself. There's a disconnect between what he's doing and what he knows himself to be. More often than not, he'd ask himself—what would Naruto do? What would Sakura do? What would Kakashi do? What would Itachi do—have done? _(Damnitdamnitdamnit.)_

And whatever he'd think they would do he'd do just that. It makes for surprisingly simple problem-solving.

But at his core he's not selfless like Itachi. Not faithful like Naruto. Not loyal like Kakashi. Not kind like Sakura.

At the end of the day, he still doesn't know what he would do.

He scarcely acknowledges it, but he keeps chasing after the back of these great people. He's running himself ragged trying to catch up, but he's so aggravatingly slow that it's a wonder he hasn't lost sight of them all.

He fears it's only a matter of time. And then he will once again be lost and directionless.

He's Uchiha Sasuke, and he no longer knows what that means.

* * *

"Oniichan, you suck." This statement is followed by chattering agreements of the other kids crowding around him on the dirt floor of the orphanage.

Children are vicious creatures, he's beginning to learn. He struggles to recall if he was ever this much trouble to Itachi as a kid. They are also incredibly unhygienic, and they incessantly tug at his clothes and hair, poke at the stub of his arm with such disregard that he almost misses the fangirl treatment from way back when in the village.

By the fifth time that they make him redo the voice for the rabbit-dog-cat-looking thing in the story, he's teeteringly close to setting Amaterasu-fire to the worn book in his lap.

His rescue comes in the form of the old matron appearing in the doorway announcing dinner. The children abandon him like one would a sinking ship.

"Thank you for playing with them, Uchiha-san."

He nods noncommittally as he receives his own bowl of food from one of the older kids. It was hardly his choice when the little ones ensnared him within their circle of skin and bones, threatening to cry if he didn't comply, so he thinks her gratitude is therefore unneeded.

None of these is needed. The feeding him, the lodging. He's only sticking around for at most a few more days to take care of the group of mountain bandits that has been harassing the orphanage. He would have been fine setting up camp nearby and not having to deal with the children growing attached (because he knows they will), but the matron insisted.

He's always had this inexplicable soft spot for the elderly, and he wonders if it's not in parts due to the fact that so few in his world get to be old and grey.

* * *

_"So Little Piggy went to ask Mommy Pig."_

The matron's lilting voice floats to his ear as he perches atop the roof of the orphanage, miles and miles of moonlit forest spanning out before him.

_"'What is happiness, Mommy?'"_

_"'It's your tail, sweetie,' said Mommy Pig, and Little Piggy looked at her wiggling tail."_

For the longest time, he's had an idea of what happiness should be.

It was the firmness of Itachi's back. His mother's warm meals, and his father's approving grunts. It was a compound brimming with powerful chakras, and memories of children play-training in the clan's private training grounds; and red tomatoes getting snuck out of his mother's garden.

_"Little Piggy looked at her tail and began to chase it around in circles until she was out of breath. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't catch it at all!"_

Happiness was home, when home wasn't yet piles of bodies and dark corridors and slipping on cold blood.

He has no idea what happiness would look like now.

_"'Mommy, how can I ever catch happiness?" asked Little Piggy."_

_"'Well, sweetie, your tail will always be there. Why don't you keep walking and let happiness follow you?'"_

He closes his eyes and taps into the warm hum of collective chakra inside the orphanage, the tiny sparks flickering dimmer and dimmer as sleep slowly claims the children.

_"And so Little Piggy listened to her mother. She walked forward without worry, for she knew her happiness is always wiggling right behind her. The end."_

"Goodnight, my dears."

Matron closes the book and gets up from her squeaky chair to stand by the window right beneath where he is, likely to stare out into the forest.

"Goodnight, Uchiha-san."

If he didn't have his shinobi hearing he never would have caught the whispered words.

He's turned the bandits in to the authorities and said all goodbyes in the afternoon. She doesn't know he's there, and he's all the more puzzled.

He stands guard for the rest of the night and silently slips away from the orphanage's grounds at the break of dawn.

* * *

The weather in Tea is shifting into spring when he arrives at its border. After a few days of travelling in silence, he stumbles upon a cherry blossom tree that has flowered early, its cloud-like plumage colourful in a sea of solemn green; low-hanging branches swaying in invitation.

He tells himself it's as good a resting spot as any, and feels a decided sense of betrayal that the spilling flowers don't smell the way he thinks they should.

* * *

A letter arrives suddenly, informing him of her kidnapping, and he doesn't remember another time that he's been more desperate. She's not someone who'd just let herself be taken, and he fears the worst.

Her letters that he's saved in his pocket weigh like a ball of lead near his heart. He's running as if his life's at stakes. Perhaps it is. For the first time since getting the Rinnegan, he wishes he knew how to control it better.

Then, watching her take down her captors, he learns these:

She's grown so much, has come so far from that little girl she once was and no longer needs to be rescued, least of all by him.

He's the very reason why she's been taken in the first place, her weakness, just that kind of toxic existence to her.

After making sure she will be safe, he leaves and doesn't look back.

* * *

Just as she has been born into this life to love him, he must have been born with the sole purpose of bringing her pain.

He only needs all of two weeks in Konoha to have her crying before him again. The weather is grey as if matching the storm in his heart. They're standing in front of that bench where he's left her once upon a time, and he can't say he doesn't notice how history is dangerously close to repeating itself.

Every muscle in his body is coiled for battle, ready to cite the 'maybe' in his promise and gain the slightest semblance of equal moral grounding with her.

She's chewing on her lip in an attempt to bite back her emotions (probably more for his sake than hers. She needs to stop making things easy for him). The tears haven't spilt yet, but they are there, glazing over jewel-like green eyes.

"I thought this time surely—" She cuts herself off when her voice cracks and chews on her lips some more, breaking eye-contact. "What went wrong, Sasuke-kun?"

* * *

_Before he could stop himself, he'd already slapped her hand away, shouting at her not to touch him._

_She simply smiled, like a mother dealing with the tantrum of a child, and calmly finished changing his bandages while guilt still had him in its vice._

* * *

He went wrong, but what else was new? With her, he's both a madman and a smitten fool, angry and frustrated and thankful and disgusted and confused and elated and most of all scared. Terrified.

The way she hugs herself and seems to be on the brink of falling apart is nauseating to look at. He's getting worked up over what was supposed to be a simple goodbye. But that's the problem, isn't it? Nothing's ever simple when she's involved.

"You know that this is your home, right? You've never needed to earn any right to stay in it."

"…I know."

She raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Do you?"

* * *

_It had taken him two years and countless good deeds to finally find the resolve to forgive himself and return to Konoha as someone he thought would be worthy of his friends._

_Yet all it took was one smile from her to undo all the confidence that he'd built up like it was a house of cards. He realized immediately that no amount of atonement would ever redeem him enough to be worthy of her._

_"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."_

_And the worst part was that he wanted to stay regardless._

* * *

"Don't be annoying, Sakura." And he can see her visibly shrink back like she's been hit. He might as well have. His fist curls at his side, itching to do something just to stop her from further torturing her steadily swelling lip.

Instead of leaving him alone as he expects her to (and how senseless it is to keep expecting something that will never happen), she steps forward and grabs gingerly onto his mantle.

"Are you…unsatisfied in Konoha? With m—with us?"

He doesn't respond, and she seems to take his silence as agreement and starts to cry in true. Big, fat droplets roll down her cheeks as she matches his gaze. The raw hurt in her eyes startles him.

"What will make you happy, Sasuke-kun?" She tightens her grip, pulling him infinitesimally closer, choking on her words. "Please, please tell me how I can make you happy."

"That's not your problem, Sakura." That's apparently also a wrong thing to say. She looks resigned now, and the sight somehow claws at him even more. The wind picks up suddenly, nearly drowning out her next words.

"Do you even want to be happy?"

He thinks for a length and honestly cannot say for certain he does. He can hardly picture what his happiness would be now that the old one is so drenched in blood, and misery is a lot harder to take away from a person.

It's ironic, then – or perhaps apt – that he would chase after something he doesn't really want. Because he's full of greed and self-gratification.

She once again takes his silence into her own narrative and lets out a long sigh. Meeting his gaze again, her eyes are already dry, red-rimmed, beseeching. Her voice is but a whisper.

"Is there something you want, Sasuke-kun? Anything?"

If she puts it that way, he wants a lot of things, as a greedy man should. Full control over the Rinnegan. Ensure Naruto becomes Hokage. More time with Kakashi (and possibly strip the man of his mask). Restore his clan. A tomato garden. Her. To name a few.

But he looks at her, her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks and bruised lip, and sees that she is all wrong compared to everything he's etched into his memory; and blurts out the single thing that floats up to the forefront of his mind right then.

"I want you to be happy."

It takes her a second to react to his words, her large eyes becoming impossibly larger as her mouth opens only to close again. He's not sure why she's so surprised. Of course, he wishes her happiness, even if that will be independent of his own.

A million emotions seem to flicker past her expression in a second, of which he only identifies disbelief, suspicion, melancholy and finally exasperation before she inexplicably bursts into a short fit of giggles. She lets go of his mantle and, before he can miss the anchoring hold, reaches for his tight fist and brings it up between her palms, squeezing.

"I can do that."

She's smiling that smile that unravels him to his core again, her eyes glittering. And he can blame his carnal desires for overriding all of his faculty, but he finds himself ensorceled.

"How about we work on it together, Sasuke-kun?"

His chest is strangely free of heaviness as he uncurls his fingers, almost in a daze, and encases her callused yet delicate ones.

"Hn."

* * *

A few days before his departure, he asks if she would come with him and she agrees easily, if not a little exasperatedly that he'd waited so long to ask, and he's mystified as to why he's stayed up all night worrying that she wouldn't.

* * *

Three months into their journey together, a newly formed part of him is startlingly assured that she will always have his back, and nothing can ever change that.

* * *

It takes a while longer, but the day finally comes that he figures it out.

He's Uchiha Sasuke, and he means everything to Uchiha Sakura.

* * *

**Author's Note:** As is the with Naruto, I take no credit for the children story.


End file.
